Emily Gould

The end of socialite Holly Peterson's $500,000 debut novel was sight for us at last, and we were still waiting for our heroine Jamie to mount the titular Manny. So then we reached page 333 of 353 and finally! Boning! But alas. Never has a description of dirty MILF-on-hired help sex been more (forgive us) anticlimactic. The camera practically zooms in to view the fireplace. There is also the line, "He looked so happy, like he was having a really, really good time."

"I wanted to make you happy. And for me, anyway, it's way overdue." "Like since when?" "Like since the first day at your office." "That long?" :"Yeah. You were so funny. And pretty. And brave, trying to manage work and the kids and all that." "Really then?" "Yeah. Like big-time. Right away. And the whole time, you're too busy to even see it, or notice." "I didn't want to see it." "I'm aware of that. Believe me, it was torture." "I'm sorry." I kissed his sweet mouth. "You should be. This guy isn't waiting any longer." A little drop of wine fell down my chin to my neck. He licked it off. Then he rested his head on his elbow and started unbuttoning my shirt. Again he asked, "You okay?" "Hmm-hmm." He pulled my arms in the air and peeled off my shirt. The crisp air felt fresh against my skin. It was never like this with anyone. Not even in college. I couldn't believe I was thirty-six and getting to feel this way. I wanted to consume all of him. He lay on top of me now, and then, straddling me, tore off his shirt. Oh my god, that chest. He looked so happy, like he was having a really, really good time. Finally, "You still okay?" "Hmm -mmm." "So." "Yeah?" "You sure you want to do the manny?" I burst out laughing. "Positive."